


Tracing the Moonlight

by forbiddenleo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Evil Peter Hale, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenleo/pseuds/forbiddenleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter returns from the depth of his grave and his first ambition is to establish a pack. His first candidate is a paralyzed Stiles- But he won't turn him. He won't kill him. No, it will be far worse than that as Stiles feels his world and mind crumble. (Set in the middle of season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles pressed his head back with what effort he could and stared up at the bleak night sky. He wondered how many hours it had been that he been sitting here, slumped up against a cold brick wall. His toes began to tingle with feeling, and Stiles deduced it must have only been a few minutes.

He wasn't quite sure why he tagged along tonight, it's not like he could do anything. Scott and Derek were sniffing, quite literally sniffing the ground in an effort to hunt down the kanima. And find it they did.

Of course, the weakest of the pack is always the first to go- Something about the laws of nature, or animal planet, or lion king. Somebody decided that the weakest goes down first and Jackson, or the kanima, agreed with that. It was less than seconds after spotting the reptilian skin. His tail whipped around and slashed the edges of Stiles back neck, lacing his blood with a paralyzing toxic.

After three times, Stiles was seriously hoping his body would start to develop a cure or antibodies. But he supposed that Kanima venom wasn't quite like the common cold and his body wouldn't build up immunity. Moments after the beast struck, Stiles found himself collapsed the ground, using the last of his feeling to push himself up into a sitting position. When he looked up, feeling all nerves and bodily connections flee his grasp, he saw the back of Derek and Scott sprinting away. They were hollering their battle cries of wolf howls; Signaling Erika and Boyd most likely. That or the nearly full moon was bringing out the animal in them and yelping like morons from the rooftop seemed to be the best solution.

And just like that left him there. Cold and alone and searching for the big dipper in the cloudy sky. He could almost see it, but there was a massive building in the way.

They'll come back. He told himself, thinking of Scott and Derek. They always come back. A little late, a little beat up, and a little oblivious to Stiles pain, save for the basic "You okay dude?"

Strangely, Stiles found it peaceful... Just sitting there. He only wished it was on a tropical beach or island and not 5 feet from a rotting dumpster filled with vermin cycling in and out of the holes. He could almost hear the rats fighting over food with the small beetles.

It was quiet despite the animal hallucinations. Stiles wasn't used to quiet. Part of him wanted to talk, to blather the silence away with pointless talking to himself. He wanted to tap his fingers against the ground, but the numbness in his hands reminded him of the impossibility. So instead he basked in the silence. He closed his eyes, letting the night air whisk up his nose and deeply exhale it out his mouth.

This was the part of the world he had forgotten- The part free of werewolves and girlfriend hunters and father fights. The part made of the silent and still beauty of the world. Had it not been for the Kanima venom racing through his veins, Stiles would have actually felt free and at peace.

Suddenly he felt a small tingling sensation burn at the edges of his fingertips. He assumed nothing more than regaining the nerves in his fingers, sighing at realizing he only had probably a hundredth of his body actually responding. It would be a long night, even when his furry buddies stopped their pointless chase and headed back.

Stiles looked down at his hands and was about to try and bend his fingers together, but saw a darkened beetle tapping it's miniscule feet over the edges of his nail. Stiles face curled inwards.

He hated bugs. He could stand snakes, he could stand bears, and he could even stand mangy and rabid dogs- thanks to his unique group of friends. But bugs were not one of those things he could tolerate. They crawled down his pants and nipped at him when he was a little boy. He still remembered his mom's laugh at his face in pure terror when he sat on an anthill and the tiny creature surrendered him, ready to sacrifice him to their ant god. He remembered screaming as a dragon fly swooped into his mouth one day and how he spent all day brushing his teeth with his fathers tooth paste and brush.

"Ugh. Gross." Stiles groaned as he tried to wiggle his fingers to throw the bug off. But the beetle latched on, refusing to let go. Stiles hand shook in short jerking motions, looking more like a selective seizure than bug flicking.

"Now, now" A voice cooed out from the darkness. "He's just trying to survive."

Stiles head attempted to turn rapidly around and search for the voice, but the first sharp turn created a load crack in his neck and the Kanima venom flowed through, slowing down his neck movements. Barely out of the corner of his eye, Stiles glimpsed the movement of a shadow.

"Really, isn't that what we're all just trying to do?" The voice remarked from the dingy light of the ally. The tone dripped in a mocking sarcasm, full of fake sympathy and understanding that wasn't masked by anything less than condescension. "We're all just trying to survive in this world."

Stiles began to recognize the voice. He had heard it before...In reality and in his nightmares.

He had heard it every night that voice as the events of that night replayed over and over in his mind in those waking moments before sleep overtook him, those precious moments of intensity where reality crept into dreams. He heard that voice, offering him a deal on the overly brightened field, lingering with claws dangling over Lydia's pale neck. He heard that voice, spitting harsh tones about Scott and Derek, spewing hatred over the name of family and pack. He heard that voice offer him the greatest gift- the bite. And every night since then he had seen the pouting lips inches from his flesh, words of persuasion just begging to clamp pearly fangs onto Stiles pasty skin. Every night he felt his heart blip when he said no and every night he heard the shock in that voice when he responded.

That voice was dead.

That voice was buried under a house, with flames having licked every inch of skin off. That voice was beaten by Derek and Scott, with minimal help from the hunters and Stiles. Yet here that voice was, ringing through the brisk night air with the same sickening and condescending tune.

"You don't look very pleased to see me…" It spoke, dripping with false sadness and disappointment.

Yes it was that voice. There was that voice

His figure emerged from the dark lined ally. Two hands stuffed in the oversized pockets of a navy buttoned up coat, done up precariously to his neck line. His footsteps clambered out with soft, but strongly audible in the silent night, clops. His head was tilted to the side ever so slightly and his hair was lightly slicked back on the top of his head, descending down into an array of unshaven scruff on his chin.

There was Peter Hale.

If Kanima poisoning hadn't been running rampant threw his veins, Stiles would have froze. He instinctively tried to kick his feet, to push himself away from the looming figure that toward above him. He desperately tried to push himself back towards the wall, but found no feeling and soon remembered the wall already pressed against his spine.

"You're…dead?" Stiles stammered out. Every zombie movie flashed through his head. His brain paused for a moment, contemplating if zombies existed. Obviously they did, one was standing in front of him. But he was free of rotting skin and looked like he had come out of a spa, not out of a decrepit house.

"And now I'm not." Peter responded, an arrogant grin growing on the edges of his face. "Funny, how that works."

Stiles sarcastic response instantly kicked in. "When most people die, they at least have the decency to stay dead."

"Unfortunately it was rather boring in the grave." The smile widened, sending shivers down Stiles spine. His eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of Derek and Scott. "Thank goodness for your sweet friend Lydia."

Stiles eyes immediately connected to the wolves at the mention of his precious crush. Lydia. Stiles thought gently in his mind, shoving any thoughts of rescue out his mind. "What the hell did you do to Lydia?" He asked, mustering up what confidence and intimidation he could. His beady brown eyes squinted at the man and he desperately wished that looks could kill. Although, killing this man seemed rather pointless.

Peter gave a slight chuckle. "Nothing. Rather, it was what she did for me. You see this" He gestured to his body with his hands, "Was all thanks to her."

Stiles let out a low growl, which only seemed to amuse Peter. The elder walked over to the teen, standing over him and looking down with a sickening expression.

"Her immunity was quite a brilliant little back up for me." He said coyly. Peter squatted down so that he was even level with Stiles, still collapsed up against a wall. "She is such a charming, precious little girl." He cocked his head to the side slightly with satisfaction as Stiles brow furrowed and glared intensely at the older man. "You should see the fantastic things running around in her mind."

"Stay away from her." Stiles responded fiercely. Part of him felt like adding please at the end, as if that would persuade the wolf at all. He didn't understand what Lydia had to do with any of this. And as much as curiosity rattled on his mind, he was too overcome with shock and anger to care.

"Or what?" Peter questioned, leaning forward and griping the edge of Stiles chin, thrusting it upwards with a cocky smile. Stiles attempted to shake his head free of the grip, but the pressure between the mans fingers was too great and instead Stiles head stayed there, locked still by Peters hands, staring into the depths of the mans eyes. Peter let out a casual sniff and his face fell in a façade of sadness "I see you still haven't accepted the bite."

If Stiles could have spit in Peter's eye he would have. "Obviously not- Or else I would be running around screaming at the moon with rabbit blood in my teeth and dealing with furballs and trying to manage a fur coat in the middle of summer."

"Oh yes, that sarcasm." Peter released his grip on Stiles, who flung his head backwards in spite, not quite expecting it to connect with the wall as harshly as it did. He winced at the pain. "How I did miss that sarcasm."

"Unfortunately it didn't miss you back."

Peter let out another loose chuckle as he pressed back on his heels and stood up. Stiles eyes watched him rise, his eye brows creased down the middle in frustration. Peter slowly circled Stiles collapsed body, looking down with a smirk.

"Aren't you even wondering how I came back?" Peter asked with widened eyes.

Stiles shook his head. Yes, curiosity was nipping at his tongue and the corners of his mind. But he knew it had to do with Lydia and paralyzed from the waist down was not how Stiles wanted to receive any information. "No. I've kind of just accepted everything that happens as werewolf mumbo jumbo magic."

"Ah, well that is a disappointment. Don't you even want to know why I came back though?" He eyed Stiles and felt the teen's heart beat rocket up.

Stiles used the remainder of his strength to look up the elder man and meet his gaze. "Come back to chase your wolf tail around a little more? Maybe kill a few innocent people? Oh, I know, maybe you'll finally dig up those bones you buried in the yard when you were a kid." The dog puns ran across his mind and he was spewing them out rapidly.

Peter only scoffed in reply, still staring at Stiles, who let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm sure you're just going to tell me why you're back. That's what you bad guys do. I've seen enough movies to know you all just love to gossip and brag about your mastermind plans."

"I already told you, I'm not the bad guy." Peter remarked. "And I'd prefer if you didn't compare me to the villains in children shows."

"Well, then, fine." Stiles sassed back, emphasizing every ending the words. "Tell me Peter, why did you decide to rise from the grave? Missing the new episodes of teen mom already?"

Peters face let out a quick smile, which quickly dropped off of his face. The air suddenly became tense and Stiles swore it dropped several degrees. A cold wind sliced down the ally. "I came back for revenge."

Oh joy, more and more revenge. What a lovely circle of love this town has become. I suppose now it's not revenge for his family, but revenge against whoever killed him. Aw shit… that includes me.

Stiles eyes widened. Am I going to die?

Here. In a back ally torn apart like a bacon chew toy when I can't even feel my legs? I can only imagine the paper headlines. Boy eaten alive coated in animal slobber. Appeared defenseless- that or just really really weak. Stiles looked back up at the malicious look of insanity that lingered in the depths of Peter's eyes. Oh God. I'm really going to die.

As if on cue, reading the rampant thoughts in Stiles mind, Peter responded, "Relax Stiles. I told you I like you, I'm not going to kill you." Stiles let out a relieved sigh that had built up in his chest. "I do however, need to restore my pack."

The teens pulse skyrocketed and his mind immediately flipped to werewolves and packs. No, no, no, he's going to turn me. At that moment Stiles wondered which was worse, being turned or being killed. Being with Peter's pack or being human, but buried under the ground. He didn't want to be turned. Not back when Peter asked in the dingy light of the parking garage and not now.

Peter picked up on the frightened teens pulse, and the cringing facial expression was also a give away. "Calm down. I offered you the bite and you refused it." Stiles eyed Peter with suspicion. "I've learned from my mistake with Scott. You have to want it- at least Derek realizes that much with his newborn brats. But I can't just give the bite away either to any open palmed teen; they have to earn it, unlike what Derek is doing with his pack. Giving the gift away to mangy teens- It's pathetic. Really, it is."

Stiles swallowed hard. "So if you're not going to kill me or turn me," His breathing increased. It felt like a panic attack swelling in his stomach and throat. He pushed down the panic and fear, shoving it down to the pits of his stomach. "Then what do you want with me?"

"I'm glad you recognize that I'm here for you." Peter said with a tight expression. "So much has changed in the time that I've been away; A Kanima, more hunters, Derek's new pack. And yet I still find you left alone, defenseless and in the background of it all."

Stiles pressed his lips together tightly, refusing to give Peter any satisfaction of a response.

The elder continued to circle around Stiles sitting position, pacing against the cold floor, rotating from one side of Stiles to the other for what seemed like several minutes. "I still want you in my pack Stiles."

Stiles eyes squinted in harsh confusion. "But you just said-"That you wouldn't turn me…

"Yes, yes, I am perfectly aware of what I said." Peter said dismissively, shooing his hand in the air. "I won't turn you. But you will be in my pack." His eyes glinted with certainty at Stiles.

The question of why was poised on Stiles tongue. Why him? But he remembered a conversation he once had with Derek when the wolf offered him the bite, several weeks after his uncle did. Derek pointed out Stiles loyalty, his determination, and his fierce protective nature that was so important to a pack member. Of course, Stiles jokingly turned the offer down, ignoring Derek's face of raw seriousness at the question. Loyalty. Stiles thought of the implications of that word. He glanced back up at Peter. I could never be loyal to you.

"I once despised human pack members, even my own family. They're weak and generally worthless. But there's something different about you. You are the exception." His eyes narrowed, shrinking down to focus in on Stiles.

Stiles mouth was slightly opened, surprise riddled across all of his features. Quickly he tried to regain his composure. "Well, as convincing as this little conversation was, I don't feel particularly inclined to join you…At all…" Stiles said harshly. "In the slightest bit."

"I'm aware of that Stiles."

Stile expected the man to say something more but silence once again overcame the conversation. "I'd say it was nice to see you again and sorry for wasting your breath… but, no, it wasn't. Now hurry on your little wolfy way before the new big bad wolf comes."

"Oh they're not coming back." Peter responded smartly. "At least not for a while. They'll be chasing the slime of the Kanima and dodging hunter bullets for a while."

The gulp that escaped Stiles lips sounded loud in the stillness of the night.

"It's rather convenient, this Kanima venom, is it not?" Peter asked, not expecting an answer as he continued on. "I mean, you can't even move right now."

The wolf crouched down, inches from Stiles face and his icy finger gently tapped the boys heaving chest. Even through the cotton grey shirt, Stiles could feel the cold sting of his claw.

Not true, Stiles thought with angst, I can feel my pinky toe and wiggle my wrists.

But instead of that sarcastic response, he felt his brain drain of any witty response, too overcome by fear to mention anything more. "What… are you going to do?" Stiles muttered out. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and his heart beat shot back up.

"Well, as you put it, some 'werewolf mumbo jumbo magic'" His fingers edged lightly on air quotes as he looked up, noting the full moon that hung glaring down in the night sky.

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	2. Tearing Skin

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"Well, as you put it, some 'werewolf mumbo jumbo magic'" His fingers edged lightly on air quotes as he looked up, noting the full moon that hung glaring down in the night sky.

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Stiles could feel his eyes growing red; stinging from the damp salty touch of welled up tears building in his eyes from fear- Fear. His face scrunched up, squeezing his eyes tight together as he felt Peter inch closer.

The werewolf's claw gently scooted up and down the grey cotton shirt that clung to Stiles body, now becoming slightly coated in a frightened sweat. "You seem a little bit scared" Peter remarked, noting how Stiles heart beat sped up to the flutter of a hummingbirds, practically beating out of his chest.

The sound of the erratic thumping of the heart filled Stiles ears, so loud that Peter's words were muffled. Or maybe Stiles just didn't want to hear them anymore, didn't want to hear that voice, didn't want to be sitting in the ally with a wolf hungrily lurched over his paralyzed body.

Suddenly Stiles felt the cool breeze nip at his hips, which for some reason became exposed to the chilling wind. Stiles opened his eyes, only to find a pair of pale, yet structured hands, teasing on the end lining of his shirt, slowly lifting it up, revealing a flattened stomach to the world.

Peter's hands were wrapped loosely in the bottom fabric of the shirt, pulling it up, lifting Stiles back from against the wall. The shirt scooted off the pale body with ease.

Blood immediately rushed to Stiles face, feeling a flushed hue overtake his face. The shirt had risen all the way past his nipples before he managed to stutter out "What the hell are you doing?" He panted out in confusion as his focus drew from his ascending shirt to the hands linked to the cloth.

"I feel that should be obvious." Peter replied and with a quick yanking motion, jutted the shirt off over the limp limbs and pulled the shirt off over the buzzed head.

Stiles stared wide eyed as he felt the full force of the cold night against his naked torso. He knew he should feel angry, pissed off at the wolf. But all he could feel was embarrassed as his lack of hip dents and abs reflected in the short glow the moonlight. He had seen enough girls woo over the defined features so craved on men, the hardened stomach, the built out chest muscles, the slight curves of the hip bones as the jutted out from the sides of a mans body. Stiles had none of that. He wasn't easily embarrassed; he still would change in the locker room in front of the other more muscular men, despite how many scrawny comments he received from Jackson. But sitting there, slumped against the stinging cold touch of worn out bricks, he felt a deep shame that he couldn't place.

His breathing became audible now, the senses of a panic attack rising him and the knot burrowing in the depths of his stomach as Peters eyes drifted from his brown eyes down the coarse of his body.

Oh God Stiles thought, Oh God. His thoughts spun out to a million things as his shirtless exterior fed out a sexual fear in Stiles. Peter can't be gay. And if he were it wouldn't be for me. Gay guys don't find me attractive. But what if there's some werewolf mating season and it just so happens to be now and I'm the most acceptable looking thing on the menu. Oh god. Oh no. Not now. This can not be happening.

Peter let out a quick murmuring chuckle. He gently placed the forefront of his finger on the tip of Stiles chest, right above where Stiles heart was. The pounding of the heart was so powerful and rapid that Peter saw his finger tremble and thump in the same frantic rhythm on top of the cold skin.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" Stiles began to murmur, once again closing his eyes in terror. Another light chuckle came from the wolf's lips. "Don't worry," The elder cooed out, obviously sensing the fear that radiated off of Stiles skin in a sickly scent. "It's not what you're thinking."

"What?" Stiles asked, trying to keep his tone even to prevent himself from hyperventilating.

"While that would, how do I put it, bond you to me," Peter whispered out, his lips nearly inches from Stiles face. The young teen could feel the warm breath hit his blushed cheeks. "I have no desire for that. And from the way you're reeking of fear, I'd say neither do you."

Stiles couldn't help but let out a small breath of relief slip from his lips. Safe to be a virgin for yet another day- Or year- Or however long it would take Lydia to open her eyes and see the quirky teen.

"But," Peter's voice emptied out into the night air. Stiles heart froze at the word. "What I will do may be much worse."

But in the end, so much better- For the both of us. Peter thought darkly as Stiles face froze up again.

Peter delicately pressed his entire palm on the top of Stiles rapidly beating heart. Stiles stared at the hand with wide eyes.

The elder wolf took in a deep breath before he plunged his nail of his index finger right above the young boy's heart. Stiles let out a harsh gasp and his face winced in pain as the finger dug down into his flesh, piercing the first layer of skin, and soon enough letting a small oozing of blood out.

Stiles face was cringed together, his eyes stabbed closed to keep the pain at edge. He could feel the finger, twisted down into his rib cage, sliming through his blood stream.

And with a movement less than a jerk, Peters hand trailed upward, dragging his descended finger up Stiles body, carving a canyon of open blood on Stiles chest. Stiles let out a small yelp, biting his lip to keep a scream held in. His flesh was being ripped open.

Hesitantly, Stiles looked down, peeking open his eyes ever so slightly. But the sight of the blood traced from the finger and the cavern nearly an inch wide made him nauseous as he threw his head back, trying to ignore the pain that shot through his body.

Peter continued to drag his finger through Stiles chest- Up and over, creating a small circle around Stiles heart and curving again down below his nipple.

Stiles let out a series of small gasping noises as Peter made a long drag across Stiles entire chest, moving over the next side and beginning another small matching circle.

"Stop" Stiles moaned out. He could feel the blood trickling down his chest, pooling in his belly button before sliding off over his sides.

A sharp line was made, cutting down the middle of Stiles chest, nicking his rib bones and cracking one with Peter's strength.

Another loop twirled around his flesh, another line, and another painful groan escaped Stiles lips as his breaths shortened, nearing the point of hyperventilation. But Peter couldn't focus on Stiles pain, he just pleaded the young teen would live through it.

The finger squirmed, digging through the flesh with ease. Stiles could feel it touching his bones. Nothing was ever supposed to feel that way, he wasn't supposed to have feelings on his rib bones, but he could still feel the icy sting of Peters nail as it scraped over.

And finally, it ended. Peter withdrew his blood stained finger from Stiles chest, staring down with a wicked smile at the work he had made. A masterpiece soaked in blood and moonlight.

Stiles was too petrified to open his eyes, too scared to see what had been defiled on his chest. The pain was still burning, passing the numbing point and it began to sting violently.

Stiles finally let out a full fledged scream, his eyes growing wide at the seeping blood. He hadn't expected this much; it was flowing out of his body, pouring down his chest, and rivers of his blood leaking freely. He was human- he wouldn't heal from this. "What, what the hell- WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

"Ah" Peter said thoughtfully, running his fingers through his scruff layered on his chin. Some of Stiles blood resting on his finger transferred to the beard, rooting itself in a crusty vile sense to the hair on his face. "I almost forgot."

He extended his claws once again and made a small slash at his own wrist and soon his own blood began to leak out of the cut.

Carefully, Peter balanced his dripping wrist over Stiles fresh wounds and watched with a gleam in his eye as the wolf blood fell down into the wound.

Another yelp flew from Stiles lips. It burned, acid seeping down into the wound, stinging and tearing at every crease Peter man. "Stop…" Stiles begged, "Please, just stop!"

Peter held his wrist there for another moment as his own crimson liquid melded with Stiles in the caverns of his chest. The pain caused Stiles back to arch off the brick wall, despite the Kanima poisoning. His face was twisted in several spots, eyes squished, lips curled, as the pain seared through his body.

"Done." Peter remarked, satisfied at the blood scribbles across Stiles chest. His wrist fell to his side and immediately began to heal from his werewolf nature.

"DONE?" Stiles shouted. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" Stiles gnawed on his upper lip as the pain began to recede, leaving a dull ache in it's place.

"No spoilers here Stiles." Peter wagged his finger at the distressed teen. "If I tell you it would very undo everything. Besides, you'll find out soon enough."

"Peter!" Stiles exclaimed. "Tell me! What the hell did you do to MY body?"

Stiles was sick of the lack of answers, he was sick of not knowing. It was like every day in his life- he had no control. He didn't know what would happen, what new werewolf drama would spring up. He didn't know how to cure Scott. He didn't know how to repair his fathers relationship and get his job back. He didn't know how to stop the hunters, prevent Erika and Boyd from their own stupidity, and he didn't know how to pass chemistry or anything. He didn't know anything and in the dull light, the ignorance was killing him.

"I can't." Peter felt tempted to press his finger to his lip in a silent sign, but decided against it. "Besides, it wouldn't matter if I did, you wouldn't remember it anyways."

"Not remember it?" Stiles voice cracked half way through. It was fear, not puberty, as his voice trembled as he continued speaking. "I don't exactly forget a crazy werewolf from the grave digging holes into my freaking chest!"

Peter chuckled at Stiles despair, which only made the teen cringe harder. "Actually, you will."

Stiles swallowed every ounce of confidence in his body. "No, no I won't. I swear I won't."

"No amount of swearing will change the curse's effects Stiles." Peter was just toying with the boy now, but there was something in the way that his face shrunk back with every word, the sound that his heart made as it plummeted to the ground in terror, that Peter just found fantastic. He was back in control- he knew he would be hard pressed to find ways to make Derek or Scott submit to him. But this human, he wasn't weak. No, never weak. He was perfect in his strength. He was perfect for Peter, even in a human state. But watching him break in pain, in curiosity, it was perfect. It was the control he craved.

Peter glanced back up at the moon and his head whipped around, hearing the dark howling and panting heading in his direction.

Derek and Scott He thought bitterly. But he was finished, Stiles was his now and no matter what the pair of incompetent wolves did, that wouldn't change.

But he didn't want to risk anything. He played far too aggressive and made too many mistakes last time when he was alive. Peter would not waste this chance by not playing it safe.

Quickly he pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket and scribbled a few words on it.

"What are you writing?" Stiles asked conservatively.

"Dear Derek, your uncle came and drew figures into my chest and then kidnapped me." Peter shot the young teen a sarcastic glare. "I'm telling him you went home."

"…And where am I actually going?"

"Shockingly you're going home. You'll wake up in your bed and you won't remember a single word of this." Peter responded.

Stiles was prepared to interject, with either sarcasm or more pleas- But he was cut short as Peters fist rammed into his temple, which rebounded the boys head against the cold wall. With a slumping motion, Stiles fell forward, the realm of unconscious taking over him.

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Scott, Derek

The Kanima stuff wore off pretty quickly and I wasn't sure when you guys would be back. I headed home to check and make sure my dad was okay. I had a bloody nose, don't worry about the blood.

Stiles

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Peter left the note where the body was, taking care to wipe up any pooled over blood with the cusp of a dirty napkin he found in the dumpster. He assumed that the wolves would be too distracted to use their senses and notice the scent of fear that had radiated off of Stiles sweat and hung in the night air.

Quickly he swooped up the unconscious teen and hurled him over his back like a potato sack. He took one quick look behind him and heard the pounding footsteps of Derek approach. With a quick grin on his face he bolted off, out of the alley, carrying Stiles like a rag doll over his back.

When he arrived at the boy's house, the upper parts of Peters jacket had been stained with Stiles blood as it had dripped off during the run. Peter flung himself up to the roof, gently knocking down the window screen and letting himself in, without a care for noise as the sheriffs car was gone from the driveway and there were no other heart beats in the house.

Carefully, Peter lowered Stiles sleeping frame onto the unmade bed in the middle of the room. He took a brief look around the room, seeing piles of clothes rotting in the corners and left over food hanging off of his desk. Little scribbled notes about werewolves hung on the shelves.

Peter looked down, and a pleased grin grew across his face as he saw the wounds on Stiles body already beginning to close and heal up- neither by human speed nor by werewolf speed, but nonetheless with a rapid pace. He could see the flesh reach out and coddle itself back to normal. The blood soaked down into Stiles skin, leaving not a trail of the crimson liquid. Aside from the distressed look across the boys face he looked normal.

Well, except for the white scars that formed across his chest, marking the places that Peter had traced in the moonlight.

Scanning the room, Peter eyed a plain white shirt in a pile crumpled over the figure of a beat up bean bag chair. Swiftly he grabbed it and hauled it over to Stiles resting figure. He looked down with difficulty, wondering how he would manage to strap the shirt over the brunettes head. But after several tries and awkward positioning with the sleeping boy, he managed to fit the white shirt over the buzzed head.

Peter shifted the boy into what seemed like a natural sleeping position, at least as natural as sleeping got for a teenager. He approached the window ready to take his leave, but not before one last glance back at the teen. Peter could practically feel the skin healing in his own chest, leaving pale white scars as a reminder of what happened- though Stiles would not remember it. The teen was beginning to snore, stumbling out of unconsciousness and into sleep. He would have a slight headache and some swelling from the hit, but Peter knew that wouldn't deter the teen at all.

With a grin of satisfaction, Peter turned away from his fond new project and leapt out the window, landing softly on the uncut grass and heading off into the night as the sun began to creep out.

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	3. Mine

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Stiles was awoken harshly by the monotone and cruel beeping of his alarm. With a sluggish motion he slammed his fist over the snooze button and buried his face back into his pillows.

With a sluggish mind he tried to think of why exactly he was waking up at dawns early light on Saturday. There wasn't school, there wasn't practice, and nothing seemed so important that it could disrupt the slumbering boy.

A groan parted Stiles lips as he ripped the sheets off of his body, knowing that if he didn't move he would stay rooted in that bed for the next day. Drearily, he walked towards the mirror, rubbing his fists against the sleep that had built up in his eyes.

He looked at the mirror, his entire figured exposed to the reflection. There was one good thing about buzzed hair, no matter how awkwardly you slept on it, it never looked messy or greasy. Stiles gave himself a quick look, faintly remembering having a grey shirt on last night, but for some reason it was white right now. He shook his head, nothing but a trick of the light or faulty memory. He left the shirt on, figuring the dirt stains weren't quite so demanding for a wash right that moment. He couldn't smell anything besides the usual dog scent, and that was all it took to be considered hygienic on a weekend morning.

Last night. Stiles heart froze at the thought. The blurry image of the Kanima drifted into his mind, alongside Scott and Derek chasing after it with their fangs and chests exposed. Stiles gently nodded to himself, stumbling his feet across the floor to where his phone was collapsed over a pile of rotting clothes.

Yes, they were chasing after the Kanima. And Stiles had been paralyzed. With a groggy sweep, he raised his hand to his chin and noticed the slight amount of stubble that had begun to perk up across his face. A satisfied face at puberty showed. Stiles reached down and turned on his phone, which emitted a harsh screeching wake up tone and a bright light that caused Stiles to flinch away from the light.

He had been paralyzed and was waiting. Just waiting. And then, then, something. Stiles rotated his neck around his shoulders, hearing sickening pops as a flux of relief flowed through him.

Quickly he scrolled through his messages to the new ones, finding a singular text from Scott, simply asking if he got home okay.

Stiles looked around his room, slightly surprised at the question. Of course he got home okay. He was at home, perfectly okay. Ah-yes, that's what the something was. He went home.

He couldn't remember, even foggily, the feeling of the Kanima poisoning fading or him walking home. But with a somewhat stifled yawn, Stiles pushed the thought off as a one of those late night reflexes. One of those moments somewhat like at a sleepover where everything is just hilarious at a sleepover but you can't remember a single thing the next morning. Except this wasn't hilarious, just a midnight walk.

Stiles figured not to dwell on it too much.

Another sharp jolting buzzer emitted from his alarm and Stiles let out a groan, reaching the plug and ripping it from the wall. He was about to text Scott to tell him that he was fine, and then he remembered why he woke up so early. He had promised Derek that he would 'help' the new werewolves and Scott. By help, Derek most likely meant run, run, run and hide, hide, hide. Stiles wasn't too excited by the prospect of being the human meat doll, but in the end he had caved because he knew that Scott didn't enjoy being alone with Derek and his harsh eyes.

Stiles reached around his mouth with his tongue, deciding that his teeth were clean enough without a brushing, and swooped out the door. He left a scribbled note letting his father know that he was hanging out with Scott before he bolted into his jeep and slammed hard on the gas to get to Derek's house.

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It had been a relatively normal practice session. There were a few rousing games of 'see how many bruises Stiles can get' and 'Hide and Go make the human feel incredibly unsafe and awkward' and even, Stiles favorite because it involved as little bodily harm to him as possible, 'Tag'.

Stiles was busy cradling his arm on a bent out rock shape. It began to ache after Erika punched him, hard, completely oblivious to her newfound werewolf strength. He watched as the younger wolves were leaping all over the place, trying to find a sinkhole or open space in Derek. But the elder wolf masterfully avoided every attack, dodging Isaacs blow from above and Erika sliding kick to the stomach. Derek twirled around, poising right behind Erika and gripped her arm hard.

Suddenly there was a loud agonizing snap and Stiles flinched, immediately looking away. He could hear the bone breaking. Gingerly he looked back over and Erika curled over on the ground, her wrist completely twisted around. She snapped it back into place with another loud cracking noise. Stiles just shook his head, an injury like that would take him months to heal and here they all were doing it in seconds.

"That's enough." Derek proclaimed and signaled his wolves in. Erika, with a strange look of hatred and disgust in her eyes, inched closer to Derek as the other wolves surrounded him. The group journeyed inside and Stile sneaked a look at his cracked watch. Lunchtime and his stomach growled happily at the thought.

Stiles hopped off his rock and followed the beasts inside, casually wondering when the last time he ate was. It must have been nearly two days. He could almost feel his ribs sticking out of his shirt and from that temptation he reached up his shirt, checking to see if he could actually feel the ribs through his pale flesh. As his fingers traveled up they were met with a strange slippery surface. Confused he trailed his fingers up it, and his skin became normal again. And then smooth again. And then normal again. A look of confusion was on his face as he began to feel a pattern confused in his flesh.

He was ready to rip off his shirt, see what was on his chest. Until he walked into the kitchen and the scent of bacon lifted through the air. He stomach nearly collapsed on itself with joy, a large cramp nearly causing Stiles to double over at the hunger and scent.

The thought of his chest was shooed out of his mind as he made his way into the kitchen, snagging a few pieces of bacon and squatting down next to Scott on a beat up stool.

Derek was busy explaining something, about the Kanima or the Argents. Stiles was exhausted and the words barely reached his ears. All he could hear was the munching his mouth made on the crunchy bacon.

Suddenly a word caught his attention and he swiveled his head up, little bacon chunks dangling out of his lips. Peter.

Derek had let out an unusually large sigh and explained how Lydia and him were at the house, and Peter came back. Stiles eyes were wide.

Peter. Came. Back. The words were repeated under Scott's breath, letting them fully sink in.

He thought he should be terrified. Oh, Peter. Peter was back. The number one big bad wolf that started everything came back from the grave. Stiles knew he should feel surprised, knew he should at least feel scared but there was a warm radiating feeling that swept across his chest at the name.

The look on Scotts face was pure terror, his hands clenched tightly at the edge of the table and his eyes fallen down to the ground. Isaac, Erika, and Boyd could sense the terror from the other wolves, and even then they showed a little fear. Even brave Erika, with all of her false newfound confidence flinched when Derek told the new wolves about how Peter murdered his family.

And still, Stiles felt no fear. He wasn't sure why, he couldn't quite place the strange feeling of calmness that had overwhelmed him. Part of him screamed to be glad of Peters return, but Stiles shook his head of the thought. It was probably just because Derek was doing a rubbish job of being an Alpha.

At the thought of the new alpha Stiles looked up at him, seeing the deep rivets in his eyes from lack of sleep. Stiles knew he had been circling the warehouse at nights, keeping watch for the argents and then watching over his new additions in the day. Stiles knew how exhausted Derek was and how hard he was trying to prove himself. The role of an alpha was never his; it was his sisters, then his brothers, then his uncles. He was the last in the line of succession and suddenly he found all the power swept up onto him. Stiles knew Derek was breaking and he knew that Peters return would only set the wolf over the edge.

Still calm- Still no petrified heartbeat that burst out of Stiles chest. It's just my medication keeping me so calm. He thought, hoping none of the other wolves would notice his lack of fear.

"That's why it smells like him." Scott murmured out, his nostrils expanded slowly, picking up every scent of rotting and burnt flesh.

"He came in here and tried to," Derek spoke with a sour tone on the next word, "Talk to me."

The new wolves tried to pick up on a scent, and eventually with their chins held high in the air, they did. It was like meat that was far overdone, a pick of wood left to burn in the sunlight, a decaying scent that hung in the corners of the air.

They tried to memorize the scent, but it didn't taste too far away. It smelt fresh on their tongues and senses.

Fresh, it wasn't the old scent that lingered lightly on footsteps and dander, no- this was real.

Derek noticed it too and instantly his claws sprung out, trying to gather the where the scent was coming from. It was so fresh, so strong. Peter was still here, or at least a piece of him was.

Stiles flinched back at the claws- no matter how many times Stiles saw the little nails they were terrifying in their strength to rip through flesh and bone. His chest felt a slight, uncomfortable spasm at the thought.

Derek paced around the room, head held high in the room, his nose wildly searching for the scent. He followed the scent around the kitchen, around the island, and suddenly his head jerked to the side, picking up a whiff of the fresh scent.

He eyed the source, his eyes were shrunk down in confusion as he stared at the pale figure crouched over a black bar stool with bacon grease lining the edge of his lips.

"Why…" Derek muttered out his thoughts, "Do you smell like Peter?"

Stiles spun around on his barstool, barely holding on as it tipped over onto 2 legs. "Me?" He asked in equal confusion. With a loud gulping noise he swallowed the last of his bacon and wiped the grease from his lips with the cusp of his old sleeve.

With a stiff nod Derek walked closer to the human, every step causing Stiles to slink closer against the edge of the cabinets.

"Same cologne?" Stiles offered out with a weak smile. The tension in the room was tight as Derek refused to take his eyes off of Stiles, glancing over every inch of the pale boy.

"No." Derek said, bluntly shutting down Stiles attempt to lighten the mood. He was barely an inch from the boy as Stiles was squeezed hard against the wooden cabinets, a knob digging harshly into his back. Derek's eyes met Stiles concerned ones. "You smell exactly like Peter."

Stiles eyes flashed over to Scott, begging for help or something to tell Derek to ease off. But Scott's eyes were riddled with the same intense confusion as Derek. He could smell it too. His face was squeezed up around his nose as the scent burned into his mind. He couldn't forget that horrible smell that reeked off the alpha. And it was covering his best friend. It wasn't just a light layer; the scent seemed to be emerging from Stiles, mixed into his own scent.

A thousand snarky responses were rambling in Stiles head. But nothing came out but a weak mumble of confusion as his tongue felt swollen around his lips.

Derek's eyes sunk down into Stiles chest and a grimace arose on his face. "Take off your shirt."

Stiles face lit up on a slight chuckle. "What?"

Derek's face decreased into a glare, stabbing knives into Stiles light hearted nature. His claws reached out and plucked on the fabric of his shirt, pulling it out an inch and then releasing it. "Take it off."

Oh geez. Another person wants to see my abs. This is getting popular. I should really start charging for this.

Stiles wrapped his fingers around the cusp of his hem and began to slip the white shirt off over his frame. A light blush came over his face as he saw Erika eying him, with both of her hands propped against her hips.

Another person? Stiles mentally questioned. This seems familiar… I just can't place it. He thought as he felt the cusp of the shirt raised above his stomach.

He pulled the shirt over his head and placed it on the counter, awkwardly turning around as he tried not to touch the wolf that was lingering over him.

Must have been a dream I guess. Stiles tried to convince himself, letting a light though of Lydia drift into his mind, but there was a nagging sensation at the thought that he couldn't quite shake.

Stiles was about to say something, nearly calling Derek gay or a sarcastic comment on his body building chest, but was stopped by a loud gasping noise.

He looked over at Erika, whose hands had moved from her fist and were clasped over her mouth. Isaac was leaned forward over the counter, trying to get a better view, and Boyd's mouth was hung open slightly.

Derek, even Derek the alpha killer, even Derek the stupidly brave and determined, even Derek the glowing red eyed wolf, couldn't help but stutter back a step.

"Stiles…" Scott mumbled out. Stiles shot a look over to his best friend, whose hand was reaching towards his chest.

"What?" Stiles asked innocently and noticed all of their eyes staring down at his chest. This must be how girls feel.

He looked down and his face curled up. "WHAT THE HELL?" He shouted, stumbling back on top of the cabinets. His fingers raced up to his chest, terrified to touch.

White lines were scribbled over top of his flesh, and his fingers trembled as they traced over the smooth lines that reached across his whole chest.

They didn't hurt but there was no blood, no signs of injury, they looked like they had always been there- like they belonged there. But everyone knew that they didn't, standing out from the pale skin with a sickening white.

Scars- Racing across his skin in a glowing pattern.

Stiles eyes shot up at Derek. "What is this? When did this get here?" He gestured wildly at the chest markings that curled over his nipple and pectorals.

Derek just shook his head slowly side to side. He took another step back. His eyes lacked any anger, just pure confusion melded into his icy blue.

Stiles felt his chest expanding rapidly.

The air wouldn't go in. It just wouldn't go in. It wouldn't go in his throat, in his mouth; he couldn't quite suck it in all the way.

His breathing became harsh as he muttered out a small plea to Scott, mumbling his name over chapped lips. But his best friend just stared, transfixed by the scars.

His vision began to get spotty. Little black dots flecked at the edge of his vision.

Where did they come from? They seemed to burn on his chest like a spotlight, though they caused no actual physical pain.

No air.

No breaths.

"Calm down." Erika was the first to notice the signs of the panic attack that started to overwhelm Stiles.

"Don't tell me to calm down." Stiles gasped out. It came out weak. "What the hell is this?"

Silence filled the kitchen and soon the only thing that could be heard was Stiles clinging for air. His fingers dug into the markings, and Stiles began to wish he hadn't chewed his nails off. He just wanted to rip the markings off.

"Words." Derek finally said. "They're words." His eyes were squinted down, looking at the lines and patterns.

Oh god, somebody's doing their English homework on my chest? Practicing their human cursive?

"What does it say…?" Scott asked quietly.

Stiles felt his lungs begin to scream out for air. His mind screamed to stop, for everything to just stop. His body trembled and his knees wobbled against each other in a shaking motion. His fingers vibrating against the edge of his jeans. The dark hue began to swell over his vision.

"Mine." A voice answered, loudly, brimming with confidence.

It was a new voice and all heads turned around to see the source.

Peter. Stiles thought with certainty as the pressure in his chest forced the rest of his air out.

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